


Thoughts in the Back of Your Mind

by RobinPlaysTrumpet15



Series: The Things We Learn To Live With [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 08:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18775072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinPlaysTrumpet15/pseuds/RobinPlaysTrumpet15
Summary: The voice whispering in the back of his head is new, but that's fine. Just like everything else in Jon's, so far, short life.





	Thoughts in the Back of Your Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this is my very first Game of Thrones fic. My brother likes it, so I hope that you all like it too. This is based around a headcanon my brother and I have about Jon dealing with sort of... passive suicidal thoughts. We have a few different thoughts and versions of this headcanon, and if you would like to hear about it, please hit me up, I would be happy to tell you all about it. But so yeah, that's the idea for this story. Also, I've put this story into a series so that I can work more in this idea later on and hopefully add a little bit of context.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like this story!

There are some things in life that you just learn to deal with. You learn to navigate around them because if you don't, you might find yourself stuck. And sometimes, a person can't afford to be stuck.

But Jon… well, Jon just might be stuck. Jon might have been stuck for awhile now.

It started when he was ten. It had been his name day. Jon's name days never had been very big affairs. His father did what was appropriate for a bastard son, even if he clearly wanted to do more sometimes. But it was fine. Jon understood. He would never live up to the status Robb and Sansa and Arya and Bran had been born into. That was just his lot in life as a bastard.

Sometimes Robb would insist they celebrate their name days together, even though they were five moons apart (the shortest way) and Jon was seven months younger in age. Usually, Lady Stark didn't allow it.

She didn't like Jon. He thinks he remembers a time, when he was very young, that she attempted to act as a mother to him. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking. Young minds tend to do that. Create memories that aren't real.

But it was fine, like everything else. Jon was not her son and her husband shouldn't have ever sired him in the first place. He understood. Catelyn had four, soon to be five kids of her own to care for. She didn't need a sixth in Jon, another woman's child. It was fine.

A lot of things in Jon's life were fine. It was fine that Robb was the oldest but Jon was held to a different standard of maturity and expected to act older than even Robb was. It was fine that Sansa hated being forced to get along with him. It was fine that Lady Stark hated him playing with her children. It was fine that his father would never tell him about his mother. It was fine that sometimes the only people who remembered his name day were Ned and Robb. It was fine that he was all but guaranteed to join the Night's Watch one day because he'd never have a chance at anything else. It was fine.

That day, in hindsight, had not been fine.

He'd been wandering the castle alone. All his siblings were off doing their own things. Bran was four and just happy to explore the world, Arya was being punished for ruining another dress, Sansa just didn't like him, and Robb was busy being taught how to be the Lord of Winterfell. Because one day he would be. And Jon will be proud of him on that day. He didn't want to be lord of anything. That's not what he was meant for.

The night before, Jon's world had been brought to a temporary stand still. Dinner had been going as it typically did, until Arya had spoken up in her too loud five year old curiosity.

 _"Why does Jon have to sit down there? Why can't he sit up here with us?"_ she had asked rather innocently, if not pointedly. For a five year old, she was pretty perceptive.

Their father had glanced uncertainly between his daughter and his wife, opening his mouth to respond when Catelyn cut him off.

 _“Because he is a bastard, Arya. He is not a Stark and has no place up here at this table.”_ Her eyes caught Jon’s sternly for a half second before she turned her gaze back down to her plate, taking a delicate bite off her fork.

Arya had tried to argue, but her mother hadn’t said anything more and their father just tried his best to keep a situation from escalating. Eventually, she had grumped into a slumped position in her chair, where she was left to sulk. Better to leave her than to cause a scene. Which she sort of already had. Jon was suddenly keenly aware of the side eyed glances being thrown his way after the head table had quieted down.

So today, when he’d been left to his own devices, Jon had nowhere to really go. He sat around in his room and read some, but that got boring and lonely really quickly. Brandon and Arya were likely with their mother and Jon figured today of all days would be a good time to steer clear of the woman, leaving that whole corridor of bedrooms and doors completely off limits. No one was training and his father wasn’t in the castle, as far as Jon could tell.

He hadn’t even really seen anyone today. And those he had seen hadn’t said anything to him at all. They just got what they needed and carried on their merry way with whatever business they had.

Jon didn’t know where to go or what to do with himself. Which was exactly how he found himself dragging his meandering feet up the stairs of the tallest tower in the castle. If nothing else, he liked the wind that seemed to always exist up there. And the view of the forest and the hilly fields of grass was always nice to contemplate- at least for a little while.

And once up in the tower, Jon sat in the window. It didn’t have any glass there anymore, or perhaps it never had. Jon wasn’t sure. But he pulled himself into the hole and let his feet dangle down the wall, one hand braced at his side and the other clenched onto a metal holder inside.

_Why can’t he sit up here with us?_

_He’s not a Stark._

_Bastard._

_Spare._

_Mistake._

_Useless._

He’d never amount to anything, Jon realized.

A gasped breath stuttered into his lungs. He couldn’t figure out why the thought hit him so hard. It wasn’t like any of this was new information. It was accepted fact and had been for as long as he could remember.

But strangely, today it just hit differently. It collided with his lungs and ribs and heart in a new way than it usually did, leaving different tender bruises in its wake.

The ground below his feet was a long way down. He should probably know how far down, he was sure he’d been told before. But the number wouldn’t come to mind, the amount of feet between the grass and the window escaping him, like the air he so desperately wanted to suck into his lungs. He couldn’t breath. His lungs wouldn’t expand all the way, or perhaps they just couldn’t fill up anymore.

Maybe there was too much air up here. Was there such a thing as a person breathing too much air?

He should go back downstairs…

 _Jump,_ said a voice at the back of his head.

“What?” he all but whispered to himself, the word harsh and panted with the effort. The voice seemed to have knocked all that air straight from his lungs. “No…”

_And why not?_

_It’s not like you’re wanted here anyway._

And, no, that couldn’t be right. Jon had at least three siblings who could contest that little statement-

_Don’t you want to know?_

_What if would feel like to fall?_

_You want to find out, don’t you?_

“No…” He doesn’t.

_Of course you do._

_You can’t lie to me._

_And then, once you find out?_

_This could all be over._

_No more loneliness, no more being a bastard, no more anything._

_Just whatever comes next._

“I don’t-”

_And it can’t be any worse than being hated by your own family._

Jon couldn’t argue that point. And now it was the only one that mattered.

And so what if he did it? No one would miss him. Not for too long, anyway. Arya and Brandon probably wouldn’t even remember him one day. Sansa and Catelyn would be happy, he was sure. And Robb… Robb could finally be the older brother he was raised to be. No more bastard just over half a year younger to worry about.

_Come on…_

_Jump…_

_Just say yes._

“Yes,” Jon whispered, too quiet to even hear himself. His weight shifted, shuffling further out the window against the rough, worn stone. He could let go, tip forward just a little bit and- He could free fall. Jon would know what it’s like to fall. To feel the air whip past you and then hit the ground.

“Yes…”

_Let go._

_Just let go and you can be-_

“Jon!”

Big hands grabbed him around the waist and yanked him back into the tower. His chest collided with a sturdy body, the grip on him tight and nearly unforgiving.

Jon’s head whipped around, his eyes blinking away a strange fog that seemed to have rolled in and clouded his thoughts. He tipped his head back, his eyes meeting the concerned look of his father.

Ned’s eyes were wide with the closest thing to fear Jon could ever remember his father showing. His forehead and brows were all crinkled and crumpled in barely contained concern and worry.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, boy?” Ned demanded, continuing to hold Jon where they’d both ended up on the floor.

Jon blinked again, looking back around the room. He was in the tower. How’d he get in the-

Oh, that’s right. He’d been sitting in the window. And that strange new voice had been talking to him.

“Did you hear it?” he asked his father, looking around as if he could see a disembodied voice floating around somewhere.

“Hear what?”

“The voice,” Jon explained in a small tone. “It was saying to…”

He didn’t know why he trailed off. Maybe he shouldn’t tell his father about the voice after all…

“Saying to what?” Ned asked, probably for the second or third time. Jon couldn’t remember hearing him.

And, well… he might as well say something.

“Jump.”

The room went uncomfortably silent.

“Father?”

Ned hesitated. “Let’s not go jumping out of windows quite yet. Your brothers and sisters and I have a surprise for you.”

“For what?” Jon turned a quizzical look up at his father.

The man smiled warmly. “Your name day, of course. Ten is a big year for a growing young man.”

Jon smiled back. Ned stood them both back up and steered his son around towards the stairs.

“Run on downstairs. It’s in the courtyard.” He nudged Jon forward and the boy took off downstairs with an aborted shout of excitement.

Ned hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the cold tower room around him, eyes stopping on the window. His eyebrows furrowed deeply, thinking of the words the boy had said.

_“Did you hear it?”_

_“The voice… saying to-”_

“Jump,” he mused to himself. The thought was concerning to say the least.

He might have to start keeping a closer eye on that boy. Sitting in windows and talking about a voice no one else could hear telling him to jump.

Something wasn’t right.

But for now, he shook his head and turned back to the stairs. He had to be there for his… his son. There was still a name day to celebrate after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked this. Please let me know what you thought, and feel free to ask about our headcanon. You can ask in a comment or shoot me an email at the address on my profile page. Thanks!


End file.
